


Charms

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blow Jobs, Bottom Chris Argent, D/s, M/M, Masochism, References to Abuse, Self-Loathing, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1704881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter opens on the first knock, one eyebrow arched, not even surprised to find the hunter on the other side.</p><p>Chris steps forward, right into Peter's space, and says, “I need you to hit me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inouken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inouken/gifts).



Chris strides silently through the house, silent except for the faint tinkling sound from his left ankle. He pads into the kitchen, quietly making a pot of coffee for himself, and setting the cappuccino machine for his Master.

He takes his steaming coffee out onto the deck, shivering faintly in the slight bite of the wind. He could go in and get dressed, but both of them prefer him mostly without.

Chris shivers in a different way as one of the delicate chains around his wrist brushes _just so_ across the ligature marks left from last night. He glides the pad of his thumb across the marks, clenching his jaw as the pressure makes a soft blush of pain bloom across his skin, taking him back in memory a moment to how he earned those marks.

He's brought back by a gentle hand brushing through his hair, right before the fingers roughly grip and tug backwards. His lips are claimed, and Chris lifts his chin into the kiss, easily surrendering to his Master.

“Good morning, pet.” Peter murmurs against his lips, and Chris smiles and whispers a _good morning, sir_ in return.

There's a smile and then Chris suppresses a whimper as Master's heat withdraws, settling on a deck chair with his capp.

Peter grabs the cushion that leans next to the wall and drops it lightly on the wooden planking in front of him.

He doesn't have to say a word, Chris is already settling his coffee down on the side table and taking his spot at his Master's feet. He smiles his gratitude at the cushion, a luxury Chris highly appreciates at his age.

“I have something for you.”

Chris' gaze goes immediately to Master's crotch expectantly, because Peter has _never_ given up with the crude sexual innuendos no matter how old he's gotten.

Apparently, that's not the gift for today, but the flick of his gaze sets Master into a gale of laughter, during which Chris fights hard to keep a look of wide eyed innocence on his face.

“You. You little _brat_.”

Peter is shaking his head, and he reaches out and tugs Chris close by the chain around his neck.

Master kisses Chris, but it's not soft and gentle like the good morning kiss, this one is hot and demanding.

Peter plunders his pet's mouth thoroughly and when he pulls back, Chris' lips are kiss swollen and reddened and his eyes are wide, and he looks debauched rather than innocent.

“That, pet, _that_ you can have later.” He chuckles one more time and then reaches into his pocket, pulls out a tiny velvet box. “Do you know what today is?”

Chris' forehead gets the tiniest furrow as he thinks. And then it comes to him, and the expression on his face softens, lifts up to Peter with that loving adoration that only this one man has ever seen.

“Yes, pet. The day you came to live with me.”

Peter hands Chris the box and tells him to open it. When he does, Chris sees a little twinkling silver star.

Peter's strong hands reach out and grab Chris' chin lightly, bringing his eyes up to Master's.

“You have been the star of my life for ten years now, and I wouldn't give up one second of it.”

Chris' vision goes a little blurry, and he obeys blindly as Peter gives him the “Up” order, lifting his left leg to rest on the chair between Peter's thighs.

Master fastens the star to the bracelet around his ankle, and Chris can't help but shake his foot a bit, smiling at the new addition to the soft noise it makes.

He kneels back to his cushion, lifting his eyes up, eyebrows lifted, letting Master know he has something to say.

Peter nods. “You may speak.” His eyes are soft and loving and Chris finds a tear escaping, rolling silently down his cheek.

“That day.” He clears his throat a moment. “Was the best decision I ever made, sir.”

Peter smiles softly and pulls Chris forward by the chain around his neck once more, this time kissing his forehead.

“I love you.”

-

Peter takes him out to breakfast, and Chris is half-excited, half-anxious because he doesn't leave the house very often.

His choice, not Master's.

Chris feels jittery without all the chains holding him in place. The only one he's wearing is the charm bracelet around his ankle, of course. That one never comes off. That's his official collar, non-traditional though it may be.

It always reminds him that he's owned by Peter. Who reaches over and places a hand on Chris' knee, and just that one touch settles him.

Chris smiles and digs into his omelette.

\-----

Chris is drunk, hammered off his ass, and he knows it. Know it and doesn't care, because he's just sent the closest thing to a son he has off to France and now he's got nothing and no one.

Chris is so drunk he can barely stand and yet he hurts. Hurts so fucking bad still, that empty aching hole where his heart used to be.

Victoria, Gerard, Kate, Allison, Isaac.

Peter.

He supposes Peter should be the top of that list. Chris lost him before the others. Peter was the first person he'd ever lost actually.

And Chris knows somewhere deep down inside that all of the losses, including Peter, are Gerard's fault. But he also knows that they're his fault too. If he'd ever been able to stand up to his old man, Chris could have prevented a lot of pain.

Chris never had. He just goes and ahead and follows orders and makes stupid decisions.

Like this one.

Peter opens on the first knock, one eyebrow arched, not even surprised to find the hunter on the other side.

Chris steps forward, right into Peter's space, and says, “I need you to hit me.”

Peter doesn't, because he's a heartless bastard. Chris tells him so.

He also tells him things that he never meant to, Chris can't seem to _stop_ talking for some reason.

He tells Peter why he'd broken up with him so cruelly all those years ago. Chris tells him about the training he had to undergo starting before he could talk. He talks about how he'd stuck with Victoria because she was the only one who knew just what to do to center him, to keep him on track.

It should feel weird to talk to an ex-boyfriend about the wife who died, but it doesn't. Maybe it's due to the liquor.

Eventually he runs out of things to say, and he must black out for a bit, because when he comes back to himself, he's wrapped in Peter's arms and his cheeks are wet with tears.

Peter must sense the instant Chris awakens, because he loosens his hold, giving the older man the freedom to get away if he needs to.

Chris doesn't feel the need to, not one bit, in fact, he feels totally safe. Which is quite possibly even stupider than his decision to come here.

And he must be sobering up, because Chris now has the presence of mind to pull himself together, to gather the shredded tatters of his dignity around him, and to pull away from the embrace.

Peter doesn't stop him, just watches him silently.

Chris feels the loss immediately, he's suddenly cold and lonely again. And _angry_ , angry at himself and angry at Peter and angry at everything in this fucked up world.

Just before Chris reaches the door, he hears his name. He halts, not turning around, but he's listening.

Peter's voice is soft.

“Next time, come here before you start drinking.”

Chris closes his eyes.

There's no way he's ever coming back, ever _humiliating_ himself like this again.

\-----

“Christopher.”

The voice is sharp and Chris realizes that he'd been drifting when he's out on a date with his Master. He flushes and looks down. “I'm sorry, M- Peter.”

They keep the nature of their relationship behind closed doors.

Peter squeezes his thigh again.

“Where did you go?”

Chris closes his eyes and then lifts them to show Peter his pain.

Revealing his emotions to his Master has never been easy for Chris.

Even now it still isn't easy.

Chris feels naked and shamed here in public. But he never denies Peter. Not anymore.

“Back to the beginning. The night I-” He swallows hard, then his lips twist sardonically. He still has a deep well of self-loathing. “The night I got drunk and threw myself at you.”

Peter arches a brow. “You and I remember that night quite differently. Because I recall a strong, brave man who fell, and asked for help getting up.”

His lip quirks a moment. “Or rather, demanded it. You always were bossy.”

Chris snorts, and then he laughs, because Master is right. He does tend to get bossy. Frequently.

Fortunately, Peter finds it amusing and not annoying.

He leans close and murmurs into Chris' ear. “I'd rather you think about the first night we actually got together.”

Peter flicks a single claw out and trails it along Chris' zipper, and the hunter flushes from the neck up as he hardens under that simple touch.

And then it's gone, retracted as the waitress returns, and Chris is left trying to control his breathing as she takes their plates.

Peter puts his signature on the bill and then smiles at Chris with a particular gleam in his eye. Chris knows _that_ smile. That smile means he's going to be on his knees very soon.

Master writes on a napkin, folds it, and slides it over.

Chris cautiously unfolds it to read.

_Bathroom or car?_

Chris bites his lower lip a second, flicking his eyes around the restaurant, then tucks the napkin in pocket, sliding from the booth and heading to the car.

He slides into the passenger front seat and waits.

\-----

Chris startles as his phone rings. The burner phone. That no one should have the number to.

He lifts it and doesn't recognize the digits on the caller ID.

“Argent.”

“How long are you going to sit out there?”

It's Peter. Of course it's fucking Peter. He's a werewolf. He probably knows the sound of Chris' SUV.

“Until I decide if this is a stupid idea or not.”

Immediately, Chris grits his teeth. He shouldn't give Peter ammunition.

“The door will be unlocked for the next five minutes.”

Chris stares at the phone as the screen goes blank.

“Fuck.”

-

Twenty minutes later, he's sitting on Peter's couch, hands wrapped around a glass of water, trying to explain.

“It helps me not think, helps me not get lost in myself...” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with his lack of ability to get his meaning across.

“It's your anchor.”

And maybe he did manage to make himself understood, because that is a perfect analogy. Chris breathes a soft sigh and nods.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

Peter is quiet a moment.

“How did she do it?”

Chris slides an arm free of his jacket and tugs on his shoulder. A length of leather slides from its coil and Chris absently recoils it and settles it on the coffee table in between them.

“A bullwhip? She used a _whip_ on you?”

Peter is trying to imagine this. He can't.

Chris is staring so hard at the whip that his gaze could bore holes into it.

“My father taught her how.”

And no, the wolf isn't going to touch _that_ with a ten foot pole.

“Okay, well,” Peter rises and scoops the whip up in his hand. “If this is what you need, then lets do it.”

Chris doesn't move.

“There's one more thing.”

Peter waits, as Chris' face gets even redder.

_In for a penny, in for a pound._ He lifts his face up to look at the werewolf looming over him.

“I'm going to start enjoying it after a while.” Chris considers. “I'm going to get turned on, and I might even...you know.” He waves his hand vaguely and Peter's left to interpret on his own.

“I see.” And Peter is starting to, starting to imagine also, and that's not doing him _any_ favors in the downstairs department.

“I just didn't want you to think.. It's not you. You don't have to do anything about it. I only need the...I just need you to hurt me. Nothing else.”

Peter is quiet a moment because his brain is spinning in full gear now, and then he nods his head.

“Okay, Christopher.”

Chris nods back and starts stripping, and Peter is completely on board with this, because he hasn't seen the hunter without clothing in a long, long time.

“Wait.”

Chris lifts his chin, already preparing for rejection.

“How do I know when...when it's enough?”

Chris blinks a minute, rocks back on his feet, then shrugs. “Vic just did it until her arm got tired.”

Peter's voice is amused. “That's _not_ going to work, for obvious reasons.”

The wolf looks around, grabs something off his kitchen counter, and puts it in Chris' hand.

The older man peers at it, a chain made of silver with a tiny wolf's head charm attached to it. He arches an eyebrow.

“A wolf?”

Peter flashes a grin. “I like wolves.”

The hunter rolls his eyes.

“When it's enough, just drop that on the floor.”

Chris shrugs and nods.

Peter takes a step back and hefts the whip, takes a few moments to figure out its heft and balance, and then looks around the room.

“The couch?”

Chris nods, leaning over it slightly, hands gripping tightly into the cushioned back, legs spread. It's obviously a position he's used many times before, and all Chris is thinking about is the pain that will settle him.

All Peter can think is how much he wants to throw the whip to the floor, and bend Chris over the back of the couch. Because the hunter is _still_ fucking gorgeous.

His body is in excellent shape, shoulders a little broader, more muscles packed onto that frame, and the scars of course.

Peter has the oddest urge to trace those scars with his fingers...and his lips.

He shakes it off and steps back, somewhat uncertainly, and raises the whip.

“Ready?”

Chris nods, gripping the bracelet tight.

“Please, Peter.”

The werewolf sets his jaw, and starts hurting the man he's loved his entire life.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter slides into the car, and Chris surreptitiously looks around as Master unzips himself. Chris licks his lips, eyes darting up the Peter's face, waiting for permission.

He watches Peter curl his own hand around his length, stroking it to hardness, and Chris bites back a whine because he wants to be the one touching Master there, wants to get his mouth on Peter's cock, loves the way it makes him feel.

Chris is briefly distracted from the motion of Master's hand when he starts talking, murmuring to the hunter softly.

“Were you thinking about our first time together, pet?”

Chris nods, eyes drawn, mesmerized by Peter's hand.

“Good. Alright.”

Master pulls his hand away, nodding at Chris, who leans in and takes the entire length into his mouth, relaxes his throat and holds.

Master hasn't given him any specific directions so that means that Chris can have some leeway in doing what he likes.

He loves having his mouth and throat filled, loves the way that it focuses everything down, all the world vanishes, and there's nothing but him pleasing his Master.

\-----

Chris is standing there, and he's already second-guessing himself, wondering if he can really trust Peter, and then he's wondering if the wolf is ever going to start, and then he stops thinking altogether as the first fiery brand blossoms across the center of his back.

Chris exhales the breath he didn't know he was holding, and a full body shiver runs through him, and _fuck_ if that doesn't make him feel alive.

It hits again and he doesn't move, doesn't even twitch this time, just closes his eyes and focuses on the pain.

Chris lets each new bite of the lash fold itself into that focus, blends them together until he's high off of it, and here's the part where it start to feel good, so fucking good, and it's been so damned long since he's been here that he can't help but react.

And something in his heartbeat or his breathing must change because Peter pauses, and no, it's not fucking _enough._ Chris lifts his hand, the one that's holding the bracelet, shows the wolf that he's fine, and it must work because the whip starts up again.

Almost, _almost._

There's a crack that hits fresh skin, maybe Peter's arm is getting tired after all, or maybe he's experimenting, whatever it is, the whip bites into the flesh of Chris' thighs.

And that, _that_ was what Chris needed, and he's going to have to pay to get Peter's couch cleaned.

Because he's hit that cliff and fallen right over it, and the hunter is spurting streams of come onto the fabric, as the werewolf continues raining down blows.

And Peter has to be able to sense what has happened, but he doesn't stop, and Chris could kiss him right now, for doing this, for trusting him to know what he needed, and there's probably going to be some catch to it down the line.

Right now Chris doesn't give a damn.

He lifts his hand with the bracelet deliberately, and lets the silver fall to the floor with a clink that seems to echo through the apartment.

Peter halts immediately, dropping the whip on the floor and stepping forward to catch Chris as he goes down right after the chain.

Chris gives him a dazed smile, reaching up to touch Peter's face. “Thank you,” he slurs out and then his eyes flutter shut.

Peter is stunned silent for a long while.

He's overwhelmed with what just happened. He's awed by the trust Chris put in him, amazed at the amount of punishment this human can take, and more fucking turned on than he can _ever_ remember being.

And yet, as Peter looks down at the human passed out across his lap, he feels is this terrifying, all-encompassing tenderness.

He wants to take care of Chris Argent.

-

Chris wakes up and immediately knows something's wrong, he's not in the right place, this is not his bed. He pushes himself up, and as his back screams at him, he drops back down.

Now he remembers.

Well, Chris recalls passing out on the living room floor. And now he's in a bed.

He carefully rolls over, favoring his back and ass as much as possible. Something tugs and he realizes that there's gauze stuck to him with medical tape. He's also got a pair of boxers on, not his.

There's a soft knock on the door, and Peter's voice comes through it.

“If you're hungry, I made some food.”

The wolf must have heart his heartbeat spike when he woke up. Chris hesitates, not sure if he should accept food, but then his stomach growls, and he can hear a snicker through the door.

“I'll take that as a yes. It's on the table.”

Chris sits up and looks around, but his clothes must still be out in the other room. He opens a drawer at random.

_Really Peter? You need this many v-neck shirts?_

Another one has pajamas, and he shakes his head again, because naturally, they're all silk or satin or whatever that material is called, the shiny slippery stuff.

Although, once he's slipped a pair of the pants on, Chris can admit to himself that they do feel kind of nice. Not, however, as good as his flannel ones at home.

Also, they're blue. Chris is not a fan. He likes black and gray. And the shades in between.

His stomach claims his attention again, and he decides not to put on the top, because he's pretty sure that he doesn't want anything rubbing against those welts that are still exposed to the air.

Chris finally leaves the bedroom, and he should be wary, on edge in a werewolf's place, but he doesn't. Chris feels calm and centered, and just, good.

“Smells good,” he says softly as he comes to the table, where there's waffles, and yes they're homemade, Peter's working a fucking waffle iron at the counter.

There's a plate set for him, waffles on it with banana sliced on top, a dusting of crushed walnuts, and honey drizzled on top.

“You remembered,” Chris says softly as he sits down.

Peter stiffens, his back to Chris.

“Everything, Christopher.”

The hunter is silent as he watches Peter bring his own waffles to the table, watches him take two bites before flicking his eyes up to Chris'.

Chris suddenly starts trying to decide what color those eyes were. He would have sworn they were green, but today they look so blue-

“Christopher?”

“Hm?”

Peter narrows his eyes a moment, almost as if studying Chris, and then leans back in his seat.

“When you said that I don't _have_ to...take care of you. Did you mean that you don't want me to?”

It takes Chris a minute and then he looks down, cheeks flushing.

“Do you want to?”

Peter starts to say something, stops, and then nods once.

“Yes.”

Chris thinks about how Peter could have turned him away, could have kept going, could have left him on the floor, and then he tilts his head with a glint in those pale blue eyes.

“You got any plans for the day?”

\-----

Chris' head is on Master's shoulder and the younger man's hand is carding through his hair gently, while Chris licks his lips, chasing the taste of Peter on them.

“Do you know that I spent the next two days researching?” Peter chuckles.

“I wondered. You seemed a lot more comfortable the next time.”

Peter reaches down and tucks himself in, zips up and then considers his companion. “We're due at Ruby's at three, but we have some time free before then. What would you like to do?”

Chris considers carefully, then grins at his Master

“Let's go hunting.”

\-----

“I want to take you somewhere.”

Peter's eyes flutter but don't open. “Okay.”

Chris chuckles and traces lazy circles through the mixed fluids on his chest. “Just like that, huh?.”

Peter opens one eye and then closes it again. “Just like that.”

“It's a club.” Chris hesitates. “It's a club for people who...do what we do.”

He feels Peter tense slightly, he knows that the wolf is still somewhat apprehensive about the whole deal.

“They have these classes.”

Peter closes his eyes, and if Chris wants it, he'll do it.

“Yeah, okay.”

He wonders when he went from being the big bad wolf to being a puppy in love.

-

“I don't like this place.”

Chris is amused. “Of course not.”

They haven't even gone in yet. Peter is leaning against the car, with Chris' body flush against his. The hunter had forgotten how much wolves hate being out of their territory.

“Don't worry, I'll protect you from the mean, scary humans.” Chris smirks and pulls Peter's hands to him, letting them skate over all the weapons he has hidden on him.

Peter's eyes flash briefly, and his chin lifts and he growls low. “Oh you're going to pay for that later.”

Chris grins, the taunt having served his purpose. Peter's the big bad wolf again.

He leans in and murmurs softly, watching those eyes.

“You gonna spank me?”

Because he's watching so close, Chris gets to see the way the black at the center of the werewolf's eyes expands, with their bodies pressed together, he can feel Peter's dick twitch in interest.

Chris laughs softly and pulls back. “I'll take that as a yes.”

-

The lady at the front counter flicks her eyes over the two of them.

Chris is wearing his typical getup, heavy jacket over button up, jeans loose enough to run in, combat boots. He moves like the warrior he is, comfortable in his own skin. He's been in places like this before.

Her gaze takes in Peter's jeans that look like they've been painted on, and the v-neck that dips halfway down his chest, the way his movements are fluid and graceful.

What she doesn't see, that Chris does, is the subtle flare of his nostrils as he scents the place and the hunter can only image what he's smelling.

She turns to Chris. “Welcome to Ruby's. I'm Crystal.”

The girl hands him two thick white rubber bracelets. “First timers aren't allowed to play. That's what those mean.” She also slides a brochure at Chris. “That will tell you where everything is happening.”

Crystal points to the cubbies behind her. “If you wish to check your...” her eyes flicker to Peter a moment, “companion's clothing, you can purchase one of these lockers.”

Chris turns to arch a brow at Peter, who's smirking at him.

“That won't be necessary, Crystal.” Peter alters his posture subtly, puts a certain inflection into his voice that he thinks of as his Alpha tone, and steps forward.

Peter doesn't knows the rules of this place, but he does know wolf packs and social dynamics. He realizes that she thinks Chris is the one who does the hurting, and while he's momentarily forgotten what the _official_ term is, Peter damn well knows how to act like one.

It works.

She startles and then flushes, lowering her eyes submissively and suddenly Peter can smell the arousal from the both of them. “My apologies, sir. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

And now she's ignoring Chris, and Peter realizes that those who are on the receiving end are probably not supposed to talk to each other or something.

Peter nods noncommittally at the girls apology, plucking the brochure from Chris' hands and then pointing to a leather chair behind them in a silent order.

Chris arches a brow, but his eyes widen slightly, and after a half-second, the older man goes over and sits on the edge of the chair.

Peter keeps them both silently waiting as he finds the FAQ he was looking for, and reads it thoroughly.

“Christopher.” The hunter startles and lifts his eyes to the younger man, who walks over and hands him the pamphlet. “Pick two things you want to see.”

Peter turns on his heel and goes back to the desk where the girl awaits, and glances over the display cases of items you can buy.

He buys a thin leather collar that fastens with a snap, an introductory level book, and a little red gem for a charm bracelet.

\-----

Chris gets the shot off right before Peter slashes his claws across the deer's throat, and the wolf turns back and snarls in the hunter's direction.

“Hey, I saw it first. That's my kill.” Chris is smirking.

Peter shakes his head, slowly devolving back into fully human. “You could have _shot_ me, brat.”

Chris never misses, and they both know it.

“You'd heal,” he responds flippantly.

There's a gleam in Peter's eyes that tells him the werewolf will make him pay for that later. Chris is looking forward to it.

The hunter stalks forward with his skinning knife as Peter turns his attention back to their kill, using a claw to carefully gut the deer so that Chris can field dress it.

Chris takes over then, crouching to begin the process as Peter steps back, and he suddenly can _feel_ the wolf watching. He turns his head to look over his shoulder, and yes, Peter's not even being subtle about it. He's openly ogling Chris' ass while the hunter disembowels their prey.

“ _Really_?”

Peter grins and stalks forward, one bloody hand reaching to curl around Chris' neck, pushing the hunter's chin up so that he has to arch his body to the point of it being uncomfortable.

Naturally, Chris does so with perfect poise and grace.

Peter looks down at him, the predatory gaze softening into tenderness.

“Really,” he says softly and then leans in, just barely brushing his lips over the older man's.

Peter steps back, letting Chris rise, and then he swats the hunter's ass hard enough that it staggers him, so that he will be feeling it for a while.

“Now, pet, cut the heart out of our prey and bring it to me.”


	3. Chapter 3

They're running behind for their time slot at Ruby's, mostly because Chris insisted on a shower after dropping the deer off at the butcher's.

Which wouldn't have interfered, but Peter insisted on being in there with him.

And Peter has a _thing_ about showers, and Chris has a _thing_ about his Master and well, Chris ends up having to shower in frigid water.

He's shivering and his lips are blue by the time he feels clean, and Peter, naturally, takes the opportunity to warm him up.

So it's well after three when they stride through the door, and Opal greets them flippantly, knowing that Peter is a Dom who let her get away with a little bit of brat behavior.

Chris is already stripping down, folding everything neatly and handing it to the girl to put into their permanent locker.

Peter pulls out his small duffel and hands it to Chris, who starts accessorizing himself with the leather cuffs that are his standard attire. He then bares his neck so Peter can put on the collar with its D-ring.

Everything extra is sealed into the locker and Peter ruffles Opal's hair and gives her a 'good girl', which she flushes at.

Peter snaps the leash onto Chris and leads him into the back.

\-----

“Wow.”

Chris and Peter are watching the ropework session, and Chris thought he knew how to tie someone up, but this is fucking _art_.

Peter tilts his head at the hunter.

“Is that something you'd like to try?”

Chris thinks a minute, then shakes his head. “I can appreciate it, as a person who has used rope a time or two, but no, I don't have the patience for that.”

Peter snorts, a non-verbal 'no shit' because Chris is the bossiest person in bed he's _ever_ been with.

However, he likes the contrast of the soldier following orders by day and the mouthy bottom by night.

“So that's out,” and Peter's taking notes in the brochure, which makes Chris roll his eyes.

“Next is Needle Art?”

Chris nods and they move along silently to the location marked on the little map, to see a woman laying on her stomach, and her back has all these tiny needles with colorful ends slid through her skin. It's a butterfly, halfway done.

The man who is carefully inserting the needles, is explaining what he's doing to the newcomers in a soft accented voice that gives him away as a Brit.

“Always, always sterilize the skin.” He wipes a spot down with a disposable alcohol pad. “Use sterile needles.” He lifts up the sealed package. “And wear gloves.” He holds up a purple glove encased hand and wiggles his fingers.

The Dom returns to his art, still narrating. “You need to make sure you have a set time limit, and start small, no more than five needles the first time. It takes some time for the sub to get used to the feeling.”

Peter nudges Chris, who looked at him slowly, unwilling to take his eyes off the girl. The older man's pupils are wide and his heartrate has increased, and Peter grins and leans in to whisper low.

“I take it this one is a yes.”

Chris nods once and swallows hard, and maybe someone else wouldn't notice the tiny non-verbal clues on Chris' face, but Peter has known him for a long, long time.

Peter reaches up and slides his hand around the back of Chris' neck, stroking his thumb just underneath where that leather collar is fastened. After an initial defensive stiffening, automatic to the hunter, Chris relaxes, even leaning into Peter ever so slightly.

They stay and watch until the entire design is complete, and true to his word, the man clocks it at just under a half hour.

The removal is much quicker, and once the last needle is out, the girl is immediately wrapped in a thick robe, and taken to a hammock, where two other people are curled.

The duo both wrap their arms around her, and as soon as the Dom has disposed of the needles in a thick plastic bottle, he opens a minifridge underneath the counter, and pulls out an orange juice and a protein bar. The two subs make sure she finishes it all and then resume cuddling her.

Chris looks over to see Peter taking notes again. He stifles a laugh.

“C'mon, professor, lets hit the next thing.”

-

“I'm not going in there.” Chris has his arms crossed, one brow arched at Peter.

“You picked two, I picked two, that was the deal.”

“Peter, there's incense. And _cushions_. Not a chance.”

Peter lets his eyes flare beta blue a minute, but he remains outwardly calm, and stares down the hunter.

Five minutes later, Chris is kneeling on a fucking pink paisley cushion with gold _tassels_. He's glaring at the ground, because if he has to look at Peter's smug, amused face, he's going to hit it.

He has a feeling that may be looked down upon in this establishment.

Chris doesn't really need all this hippie shit. He deals with his downs the same way generations of hunters before him have.

Peter, _fucking_ Peter, is taking notes. Chris sighs softly again, and tried to hold back a sneeze at the incense.

The guy up at the front is talking, lecturing, but Chris isn't paying any attention, and not just because only the Masters and Mistress here had been being addressed. He feels insulted that he has to be here.

Peter's hand settles at the nape of his neck, and Chris tenses and his hand twitches for the gun that's not there, before he realizes that it's an exercise that everyone is doing.

He's the one that brought Peter here, he agreed to each pick two things each, and so he grits his teeth and braces himself to let Peter fucking _pet_ him.

The werewolf, however, does no such thing. Instead, while everyone else is stroking their hand through their sub's hair, Peter grabs a handful and tugs lightly.

Oddly, it settles Chris down, and he only barely represses the shiver that runs down along his spine. When they do massages, Peter gently digs his claws in.

Never once is he gentle or patronizing with Chris, and the hunter actually feels a lot better about the whole thing, even though he didn't really pay attention to the lecture.

At least he feels better until Peter pulls the man aside and talks to him after everyone else has gone.

Chris doesn’t know what he's supposed to do, so he just stays on the stupid hateful cushion and waits. At least waiting, he's good at. He's had to wait, motionless, in far more uncomfortable conditions.

He glances at Peter once more time, but he's writing something down, and so Chris goes back to his usual standby, repeating the Argent Bestiary in his head in alphabetical order.

“Christopher.” Peter's voice is soft, so as to not startle him, and he tilts his head and looks up at the werewolf curiously.

“Would you like some orange juice?”

Chris glances to where everyone else is getting fed orange juice and oatmeal raisin cookies by their Dominants.

“Is there vodka in it?”

Peter snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “Shall we go then?”

Chris eyes the treats a moment, then nods and rises to follow the werewolf. They get into the hallway, and Peter hands him a cookie that he'd snagged.

“If I remember correctly, these are your favorite.”

Chris narrows his eyes suspiciously at Peter, and the werewolf gets this smug little quirk to his lips. Chris wants to crumble the cookie to the ground, but well, they _are_ his favorite. And at least Peter's not trying to feed it to him.

He absently munches on it as they move along, and doesn't even notice that Peter has bought the cushion.

\-----

Once the leash is unclipped, they are in scene, and Peter can hear the skip of Chris' heartbeat when he's in the right headspace. He and Chris have done this so many times that they communicate wordlessly and seamlessly.

Peter snaps his fingers once and Chris rises from his cushion, and strides over to the St. Andrews Cross, sliding his wrists and ankles into place automatically.

Peter clicks the chains onto Chris' cuffs, presses a kiss to the back of Chris' neck while he reaches around and slides his hand down to check the ring that's already in place. This is a demonstration after all, and not playtime.

They graduated to showing others their particular specialty a few years ago. No one is as good with a bullwhip as Peter is now. Of course, given his supernatural abilities, it's not a fair comparison.

Chris settles into the bindings, only half-listening to Peter explaining care of the whip before he starts in on technique.

There's a crack, and it's his only warning before Peter flicks the whip across Chris' ass, and he's particularly proud of himself that he doesn't even move as the mark blossoms across his pale skin.

This is their favorite dance, still testing themselves against each other all this time. Of course, both of them know that Peter will win, but Chris likes to make him work for it.

Their relationship has never been typical.

\-----

Peter stares at his phone, willing it to buzz with a text, even one to say 'Leave me the fuck alone'. But it just sits there, inert, against his wishes.

He runs a hand through his hair and paces, and the werewolf isn't sure what to do, because, of course, the two of them don't talk about, well, anything.

They've done this a handful of times, but last night Peter had asked something new, well, maybe _asked_ wasn't the right word.

He'd made Chris beg, plead for both the initial whipping, and for his release. It had worked at the time, and Chris had seemed fine when he left shortly after.

But Peter has this weird certainty that something is wrong. And yet, if he pushes he might screw this up. And he likes what they have.

In fact, Peter wouldn't mind if Chris stayed sometimes, but he'd take what he could get.

Well, at least he could wander by Chris' house and check on him from afar.

-

Peter rings the doorbell for a third time and he's just made the decision to break in, when it's whipped open and Chris is squinting into the sunlight.

“'sit Thr's 'rdy?”

Peter's nostrils flare because Chris smells like he's fucking _bathed_ in whiskey.

“Christopher, I thought you were done drinking.”

Peter pushes past Chris, into the hunter's house and the older man doesn't even blink, but he does close the door and turn the three dead bolts before resetting the alarm.

“Said not before.” Chris flops into a chair, beside which there is a row of empty bottles. “So... after.”

He goes to reach for a new bottle but Peter halts him with a hand around the hunter's wrist.

“I thought it, what we're doing, it made you feel better?”

“It does.” Chris' eyes are unfocused. “'til I get home.” He gestures absently. “Then i's real bad f'r a day. Then. Fine.”

“You spend the whole day after we..do that..drunk?” Peter has no idea how to handle this situation.

“Sometimes more. 'Til I pass out.”

“Christopher...why?”

“B'cause 'm a hunter in love w'th th' monster who killed his family, who can't take care of bis'ness without getting beat, 'n' a worthl'ss piece of shit h'nter at that.”

Peter takes a moment to think about that. “You. Are in love. With me?”

Chris' eyes are closed as he leans back in his chair. “'Course. 've loved you since you were a scrawny lil runt in h'school.”

“Christopher, why is it you only tell me these things when you're drunk?”

Chris snores in answer.

-

Peter stays with him until he's sure the hunter is going to be alright, then he slips out an upstairs window closing it behind him.

He goes home and does some research.

The next time Chris comes over, he doesn't seem to recall their conversation. And Peter doesn't bring it up. But he does make sure to have a bottle of water on hand to casually offer Chris, and some fresh fruit in a bowl in the middle of the table.

Peter “absently” strokes the back of Chris' neck once when he has to lean across the back of his chair for something, and he drapes a soft throw across the back of Chris' chair while he's tidying up, that misses and settles on the hunter's shoulders.

So maybe the blanket was a bit much, because Chris is looking at him oddly.

Peter ignores that and continues putting their toys away, and when he happens to glance over his shoulder, he sees that Chris has opened it a bit and pulled it over him, and is nibbling at an apple.

The werewolf counts that as a win.

The next time he happens to be in the mall, Peter stops by the jewelry store and finds a charm that looks like a bottle.

He adds it next to the wolf on Chris' special bracelet to remind himself of the hunter's vulnerabilities.

\-----

Peter has his sub dancing to his tune, moving with the whip in a bizarrely graceful interaction, and Chris is _floating_ by the time Peter's demonstration is over.

While the attendees trickle out, Peter gently unhooks the older man, wrapping him up in their travel quilt, and pulling him to a small couch, nestles the hunter close to him.

He opens a bottle of water and holds it to Chris' lips (because Peter has never been able to convince Chris to have orange juice), carding a hand through the hunter's hair while he drinks. He tells Chris how amazing he was, how much everyone enjoyed his performance, how much Peter loves him.

And then he feeds Chris oatmeal raisin cookies before they go home to celebrate their anniversary together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charms are: Wolf, Bottle, Ruby, Arrow, Heart, Gun, Book, Anchor, Key, Star

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: All Of Me by John Legend
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything. <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)


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